


The Lock and the Key

by gypsyweaver



Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [17]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Intrusive Thoughts, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Smut, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), like blink and you miss it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24924841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: His angel was so close to him. The smell of Aziraphale--of bergamot and vanilla, of sweet springtime sunshine and old books--hung on his question. And Crowley gave his answer. The only answer.“Yeah, angel, I do.”Crowley spends a few delicious hours in the arms of his angel. Old memories are stirred and shut down, and he finds that he had never known any hunger as strong as this one.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684990
Comments: 10
Kudos: 77
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	The Lock and the Key

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilipo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilipo/gifts).



> CW: Smut
> 
> I put the smut here.

His angel was so close to him. The smell of Aziraphale--of bergamot and vanilla, of sweet springtime sunshine and old books--hung on his question. And Crowley gave his answer. The only answer.

“Yeah, angel, I do.”

Those blue eyes closed, gold light dusting his fair lashes and his teeth as he smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “I was complimenting these lovely hands of yours, my darling. Your wrists--” Aziraphale nuzzled them, pressing his lips to the warm place that rose and fell with Crowley’s pulse. “There is something...fragile there, did you know? You allow me to kiss, to touch, and this is one of the most sensitive places on your beautiful body. When I was training as a healer, we raised our wrists to our teacher, Raphael. It was to show our trust.” He kissed Crowley there again, his tongue tracing the flesh between his tendons. “A swift slice is death, and you trust me to put my teeth there. I don’t know that I can put it into words, dear. Your trust...it is an honor, and I do not feel worthy.”

“Oh, angel,” Crowley said. “Feels good. It’s...ngk...”

What Crowley wanted to say was that he trusted Aziraphale to put his teeth anywhere that he chose. Also, he had a few choice places that he longed for the angel to explore. Unfortunately, words were not his strong suit, especially not with the angel’s tongue tracing sigils along his wrist.

Was this supposed to feel so good, angelic whispers reverent against Crowley’s needy skin? Every sin that Crowley had ever indulged in had felt good. This was probably the worst sin he could ever conceive of. It made sense to Crowley that it would be the most delicious.

The dogs of memory snapped at his heels. The old insecurities. The old pain.

He shoved them down, and focused on the angel’s mouth, moving across the inside of his forearm, tongue tracing the path between his tendons. The angel was so hungry. Hungrier than Crowley could ever imagine being.

 _Consume me_ , he thought. _Sweet angel, take what you need from me. Put me inside you, where She would never be able to find me_.

“The inside of your elbow is so soft, like the sweetest meat of an oyster. I love the way you taste here, my darling, and your shoulder. Well, I have actually tasted the meat here, and blood as well. Had to patch that one up. Every time.” He paused, meeting Crowley’s gaze with his own. “I don’t think I will this time.”

“Wha--?”

“I like the way that you look with my teeth marks on you.”

The hunger in his eyes! In his eyes...

An old memory (one so old that it barely lived and might’ve winked out without Crowley noticing) swallowed Crowley whole. It startled him.

His angel’s face was replaced with the worried frown of his ex-boss. They were both naked on the shores of the Lake of Fire. Lucifer--horribly deformed by his Fall, had pulled Crowley from the fires. Crowley still had another name then, and so had Beelzebub.

The Lord of the Flies ran their cool, small hands ran over his flesh. The burnt parts flaked off. He remembered most of his chest coming off in one piece, revealing baby-pink flesh beneath. He did not bleed.

Everything smelled like burnt meat and hair and feathers, and his mouth was watering even though he knew he was smelling the burnt flesh of his own body and that of his Fallen siblings and he felt their cool hands patching him up and growing his hair out of his healed scalp and their fingernails--oh God, it had felt so good. So good.

Their eyes! Their eyes! Patient and kind and sad. So very sad. The most startling blue, even in the flickering light of the lake. And now, and now...

Aziraphale’s eyes were the same. They were the same.

What could that possibly mean? Did it mean anything at all?

But Aziraphale was kissing him now, lips pressed to his lips, taking breath and coaxing Crowley’s tongue into his mouth. Crowley could not deny him. He felt the angel pressed against him, felt his fingers in his hair (so good) and tasted him.

Aziraphale tasted like he smelled, like bergamot and vanilla. Tea and fancy biscuits.

The startling memory of the aftermath of his Fall faded completely, and present-time stretched as if it was caught by a dough hook. Aziraphale’s hand wandered south, across his chest, to his belly, and below. He found Crowley, and began to stroke him.

How was Crowley so ready so quickly?

“Angel...” he moaned into Aziraphale’s mouth. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna...”

“Not yet, dear,” Aziraphale murmured back. “Not until I let you.”

“Ugh...”

As a protest, it was too soft. Aziraphale released him, and Crowley whimpered. The angel grabbed him by waist and neck and pulled him away from the headboard--he was so strong. He laid him down.

“I was premature, and I apologize for it,” Aziraphale said. “But you know that I always rush for dessert.”

He was on his knees between Crowley’s legs, rearing up, not some soft Renaissance cherub, but the Angel of the Eastern Gate. The light of the fading morning lit his hair, and it looked like a flaming halo. Like a crown. Crowley forgot to breathe, and felt the tears dropping from his eyes and tracing down his cheeks.

He didn’t know why he was crying. Was that a thing that he did now?

“Dear boy, dear Crowley,” Aziraphale clucked, reaching down and wiping his tears away. “You can tell me no.”

“Never,” Crowley said. “It’s just water. Eye water. I’m fine.”

“Would you be so kind, then?” Aziraphale asked. “A small miracle, to slick my hand?”

Crowley’s eyes grew wide, “Yeah, sure.”

He made it happen.

“This will do nicely,” Aziraphale said, as if Crowley had handed him the correct tool for fixing something in the bookshop--or a particularly luscious pastry.

The unslicked hand came down on Crowley’s chest. The weight behind it was comforting. Yet, he was held fast to the mattress.

His new (old, healed) memories sang to him that this was normal. That his angel tended to hold him down, to keep him from wiggling. He pressed into Crowley’s sternum, his strength both steady and soothing.

With the slicked hand, he reached down and gathered both of their Efforts, pressing them together.

“Oh. OH!” Crowley’s head fell back as he felt Aziraphale began to rub against him in the warm sheath of his hand. They’d done this in Rome. They’d done many things in Rome, with all the Efforts that Crowley could make.

“Yes, sweet boy, yes...” Aziraphale said, moving so slowly. “Breathe, Crowley. Breathe, my dear.”

Crowley did. The oxygen seemed to light a fire that traveled through his whole body, following his nerves from his chest to his fingertips. To the tips of his toes.

To his cock, stiff and ready in Aziraphale’s hand, pressed against the angel’s own.

Aziraphale moved slowly, so slowly. This was just teasing, Crowley knew. An _aperitif_. Something to wake an appetite.

Oh, but it was delicious. Crowley lost himself in the breath and motion, in the feeling of Aziraphale below, and his steadying hand above.

He cried out as he got closer.

“Not yet,” Aziraphale replied. “Hold on for me now, dear.”

He had no choice, and Aziraphale knew it. Crowley couldn’t climax until he was allowed to. He whined at the angel.

Bloody healer.

His mouth was lower now, kissing and nipping at Crowley’s neck. He was still stroking, still teasing him, driving Crowley to the edge and not letting him slip past.

“Heavenly, my dear,” he whispered against the flesh of Crowley’s throat. “Absolutely heavenly.”

Crowley shuddered and cried out. He needed, oh so desperately, did he need...

“Angel...” he whimpered.

“Not yet.”

“Pleassse...”

Crowley felt his whole body relax as the angel pushed him _past_ climax. As all the lovely chemicals that his body could make were made and his whole system began to swim in endorphins. He remembered the opium parlors in the Victorian Era. It felt like this. Loose and helpless.

That’s what the angel wanted. He wanted him unable to wiggle. The bastard was smiling against his skin as he released their Efforts. As he began to work his way down.

Aziraphale moved the hand that held Crowley down. It was no longer necessary. He pressed his lips to the absence, and then turned his attentions to Crowley's nipples.

“These are so fantastically sensitive,” he murmured against Crowley’s left nipple. “When it became fashionable to wear them out, painted gold and served up in corsets like dainties...oh, that was France before the Terror...I could have murdered home office for forcing us to keep our Efforts when we were on Earth. I could not get the wretched thing to behave.” He swirled his tongue around the areola and Crowley gasped. “All I could think about was how they would feel in my mouth--how you would feel in my mouth.”

His miraculously slick hand returned to Crowley’s cock as he suckled. He was past begging and pleading. A long whine slipped between his lips. He didn’t dare wiggle or buck. If he didn’t behave himself, he felt certain that Aziraphale would start from the beginning. His nerves were screaming. The angels mouth felt so good, teasing, sucking, and finally, nipping. His hand below was working him like a pump.

But he could not climax.

Crowley felt light, so light. He might float away, if it wasn’t for the angel over him. Mouth on his chest, hand on his cock, on his knees between Crowley’s thighs. His other hand curled in a fist and braced beside Crowley’s head. He turned and began to lay soft kisses on the side of his angel’s thumb.

“Pleasssse...Pleassse...angel...”

Aziraphale surged forward, his hand sweeping under Crowley’s neck and his mouth hot and open against Crowley’s. His tongue parting Crowley’s lips and slipping inside. He kept working him as they kissed, as he pressed his soft body against Crowley’s hard planes and angles.

Aziraphale broke the kiss. “I think I’ve denied myself for quite long enough.”

Crowley could see the hunger riding in his bright blue eyes. Crowley had never (in his whole existence) been that hungry. He wouldn’t have believed that a hunger like that could exist in an angel. That a hunger like that could exist in the whole world.

Aziraphale laid Crowley’s head back to the pillow, and knelt up. He ran his hands, one dry and cool and the other slick (but not leaving a trail) along his chest and down his belly, past his Effort, sweeping over his inner thighs to his knees.

He parted Crowley’s legs a bit more, and then hunkered down between them. His warm mouth found the sweet flesh of Crowley’s thighs, kissing one, then the other, slowly working his way up from his knees.

Crowley whimpered as he got nearer. As his tongue began to meet thighflesh before his mouth. He could feel the heat of him so very near where he wanted it. And he could see his hair, looking like spun sugar now that the light had lost the golden cast of morning.

Aziraphale shoved his shoulders under Crowley’s knees and laid two gentle, hot-mouthed kisses, one at either side of the base of him. Crowley’s toes curled.

And then, just as slowly and reverently as the angel had treated the rest of him, his tongue began to work its way from base to tip.

Crowley was leaking from his eyes and his cock when the angel laid three gentle kisses on the cockhead, dipped his tongue into the hole. He was tasting. Like a favored vintage, poured and aired.

“Divine, my dear,” he murmured. “You always are.”

Crowley’s head fell back as Aziraphale took him into his mouth. As one miraculously slick finger parted him and ran a lazy circle around the crenellations of his hole. The angel took him deep and slow, lips reaching the base of Crowley, and Crowley felt the brush of the back of his throat.

He keened. If Aziraphale wasn’t holding him back, he would have exploded with the touch of soft, wet throat against the head of his cock. But he was being held back.

He was using a miracle to do it, Crowley realized. Did he know that’s what he’s doing?

And then Aziraphale shoved inside him, just one finger, and Crowley couldn’t make his brain work anymore.

Aziraphale moved, eating Crowley as slowly as he ate everything. The angel’s head rose, tongue and lips stroking him, coaxing him higher and higher. His fingers clutched at the tartan bedspread. He desperately needed something to cling to.

The finger inside him was still probing, still exploring. And Aziraphale dipped his head to his work. When Crowley was certain that he was going to be allowed to come, the angel pulled him out of his mouth and began laying soft kisses along the base, soothing without exciting.

And Crowley began to keen.

“Soon, my dear. Be good for me.”

He could not be anything else, and that bastard angel knew it.

His keening turned to moans as another finger slipped inside of him. Stroking him. Stretching him.

Aziraphale's mouth returned, teasing the head of Crowley’s cock like an ice-cream cone. Tongue swirling around the head, other hand on the shaft, working him there.

The angel began to suck in earnest. He was so strong, even his mouth was strong. Crowley could feel his hand rising and falling, base to lips to base. It felt too good. Aziraphale’s third finger entering him nearly drove him past the miracle that restrained him.

Nearly.

Aziraphale lifted his head from his work. “My darling boy, you are delicious. Every part of you.”

“Please...pleassse...”

“Yes. Quite.”

Aziraphale released him, pulled his fingers from Crowley. Crowley whined, missing the heat of him. But his cock was there, very quickly. Brushing him. Nudging him.

“Do you want this, Crowley?”

“Yessss...”

He always asked, and Crowley loved him for it.

“I do need a bit of assistance...”

Crowley used a miracle to slick Aziraphale’s cock. Why not? They could discuss the sheer number of ethereal miracles that Aziraphale apparently did not know he was producing.

The wicked part of Crowley hoped that it was blowing up the records of whoever was supposed to be watching. But the smarter part of Crowley hoped that they would never notice.

Aziraphale ran his hands over the tops of Crowley’s thighs, his shoulders still firmly under Crowley’s knees. The steadying hand laid gentle, but firm, across Crowley’s chest.

Aziraphale entered him as slowly as he did everything. Gently sliding into place.

Hook and eye. Key and lock. They fit together so perfectly that Crowley was surprised that he didn’t hear a muffled little click as his angel pressed all the way in.

Aziraphale leaned forward, slick hand gathering Crowley’s Effort, and free hand bracing him just beside Crowley’s head.

“You can climax now,” Aziraphale whispered against Crowley’s lips. “As many times as you want. It’s quite alright if you fall asleep, my dear. I won’t stop.”

Crowley leaned up and kissed him. Deep and hot and full of his need.

“You’d best not,” he growled against the angel’s mouth. “You’d best not stop.”

Aziraphale smiled and his eyes twinkled mischief. “I plan to go until you stop waking up to come.”

“Like Rome,” Crowley whimpered.

“Precisely, my dear.”

He began to move, and the motion was delicious. Slow, steady, and so very strong. Aziraphale mirrored his strokes on Crowley’s cock, drawing him higher and higher and--

“Breathe, dear,” Aziraphale said. “You’ll last longer that way.”

Crowley breathed, and felt the oxygen rush through him, from chest to fingers and toes. To his throbbing cock.

Aziraphale went slowly for as long as he could, but eventually, his need was too great, and he began to speed up. Crowley felt the sweet pain flaring at the base of his spine. Flooding his body with the light of the sun.

“Angel!” he cried out.

“I’m here, my darling!”

Crowley felt the angel spill inside him, and he followed a heartbeat later.

Aziraphale’s head dropped beside his own, “Dear boy,” he panted. “My dear, sweet Crowley...”

Crowley unclenched his hand from the comforter and reached for his angel, found the soft skin where his neck met his head.

“I think this was a very good start,” Aziraphale said, as his cock began to harden again inside Crowley.

Crowley sighed as the angel began to move again. To pull out of him and sculpt him into another shape. Clinging to the fine headboard, knees spread for his angel.

It took a solid three days to sate Aziraphale. They stopped only once, for Nanny Ashtoreth to answer a text from Warlock.

There was nothing and nobody in this world with that kind of hunger, Crowley thought. And there was nothing so delicious as being devoured by him.

**Author's Note:**

> For Lilipo! I hope you like it!
> 
> Long time, no update. Eh...so I may have started another project and it may be tearing me up inside, but I need to write it all down and ~~inflict it on you all~~ release it into the world. I am restricting myself to four parts, and I've written two. So we'll see how that goes.
> 
> Even though it's been two damned weeks without an update, I've written nearly 15k words. 
> 
> I'm happy about that.
> 
> I'm hoping for more regular updates.
> 
> Comments and kudos are especially appreciated on smut posts! Love you all!


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